Centriliminal

In the middle of the edge between
Night and day, poverty and a wealth
Of numbers, mysterious digits

Suddenly linked to a legal name,
Swiftly transforming identity
Without touching one cell of the beast,

A dream decides to make its own words,
Grade schooler with scissors and paper.
What would a meteor think about

In that one, all-consuming moment
As a dust speck in the atmosphere
Burning to disappear? Think that, then.